


Stitched And Woven

by Blue_Robin



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-02 06:22:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19193467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Robin/pseuds/Blue_Robin
Summary: I know nothing about medical procedures...or what they might call newspaper boxes in the UK...I only just learned, while doing research for this piece, that apparently there aren't fire hydrants on the streets in the UK like there are in the States.My point?Please forgive any idiocy. I wrote this chapter in under an hour and only read through it once...If it's terrible I'll come back and edit.





	1. Chapter 1

_"What am I going to tell Robin?"_ Cormoran thought, as he tried, once again to staunch the blood flowing into his left eye with his right hand as he patted his chest with the other, feeling for his mobile. Locating it after a few pats, he drew it out, hastily pulled up his partner’s number and clumsily typed out a message.

_Gonna be a bit late. Proceed without me. C_

He was unsurprised when the phone he was clutching in his hand began to vibrate within mere moments of the message being sent. Without even glancing at the display he answered, “Yeah?”

“What do you mean proceed without you? It’s Ilsa’s birthday party. She’s going to want to know where you are, especially since you’re the one who planned it.” Even with the irritation tinging it, Robin’s voice was melodious in his ear. Not for the first time he found himself idly thinking it would be immensely pleasurable to listen to her voice all day.

“You’re right. I know. But you planned it too. Hang on a mo’.” He moved the phone slightly away from his ear and twisted his torso around to address the driver of the vehicle he was in. “Yeah, if you could just drop me off at the next exit, that’d be great.”

The eyes that flashed up to the rearview mirror were wide and surprised. “Sir, you’re in an ambulance.”

It hadn't worked. He'd known it wouldn't.

“AN AMBULANCE?” He jumped slightly at the sudden yell from his mobile, which was clearly audible to not just himself but the two medics he was trapped with. “Cormoran! What are you doing in an ambulance? Are you OK?”

Wincing, first at the thought of having worried Robin, then again at the pain the first wince had elicited, he took a deep breath and replied, “Robin, I’m fine. Really. Just a few bumps and bruises and…” He thought he heard a snort from the medic seated next to the stretcher he was currently strapped to and dwarfing, but when he looked over at her she was studiously folding a gauze pad and looked for all the world like she wasn’t paying attention to his conversation.

“Why would you be in an ambulance if it’s just bumps and bruises Cormoran? What happened?” He could hear the click of her heels against the pavement and imagined she was rushing to the Land Rover, determined to meet him at A&E and see his condition for herself.

“Honestly. I’m OK. Just go on to the party and I’ll meet you there when I’m done.” He knew, even as he was saying it, she wouldn’t agree.

“Absolutely not. Where are they taking you? I’ll meet you there.” The jingle of her keys preceded the familiar cough and rattle of the Land Rover roaring to life. “Cormoran? Where am I going?”

“St. Thomas’s,” he finally answered grudgingly before attempting to scowl at the firm nod the female medic had given him, as if to say, “Good boy.”

“Got it. See you in a few minutes.” Robin said before disconnecting the call.

He closed his eyes wearily and huffed out a huge sigh that ended with, “Fuck.”

“That your girlfriend?” the medic inquired.

“No. Not at all.” He almost stammered. “She’s my…”

He mentally grappled for the right word. Somehow business partner wasn’t quite the right distinction for Robin any longer.

Not since she’d left Matthew and moved into her own little flat near Leicester Square.

Not since he’d spent more time with her than he’d spent with anyone else over the last year.

Not since he’d realized he’d started turning down dates with other women because he’d worried how it would look to Robin.

They’d begun existing in a space he’d never found himself in before.

Not quite together, not quite a couple.

But not quite…not together.

They often ate dinner together, either in the office, if they were working late, or with Nick and Ilsa, or at their local, The Tottenham.

Robin had once even cooked dinner for the two of them at her new flat, as a kind of celebration of having moved in.

That evening had been delightful, both from a culinary standpoint, because…food, and because Robin had been relaxed and glowingly happy in her new home. As he’d left her new flat that evening he’d received a kiss on the cheek that had landed closer to the vicinity of the corner of his mouth than his cheek and he’d paused for a moment, almost giving in to the urges he’d been finding himself battling back on a more frequent basis.

However, he’d forced himself to take into account that Robin had been balancing on her toes to reach his cheek, as evidenced by the way he’d had to catch her to keep her from tipping over, her breathy, “Whoops!” echoing in his ears.

Since that evening the only other kisses exchanged between them had been friendly pecks on the cheek upon seeing each other at social engagements.

No…she wasn’t his partner…but she wasn’t his girlfriend either.

He finally settled on, “She’s my friend.”

The medic smiled and nodded indulgently.

He chose to ignore it as she changed out the wad of gauze he’d been holding to his wound for the freshly folded and clean pad.

From the front of the ambulance came the rather unnecessary announcement of, “We’re here,” as the massive vehicle bumped and rattled over the asphalt and stopped under the A&E awning.

Cormoran was not pleased to have to be wheeled out of the back of the ambulance, but he’d been thoroughly strapped to the stretcher from the waist down. He closed his eyes as they lifted him to the ground and started the short journey into the hospital.

He hated hospitals.

They’d just bumped him over the threshold when he heard the slap of feet running along pavement and Robin’s voice rang out, “Wait. Cormoran!”

He opened his eyes to see her flushed and concerned face coming alongside him as they continued to roll him along the hallway and into a curtained cubical. Her bronze hair was curled and pulled up at the sides, exposing her delicate ears and the dangling earrings he realized were curiously threaded through both piercings in her lobes. His fingertips tingled with the desire to touch the chains that were still swinging and catching the light after her dash across the drive.

He felt her right hand grasp his left, her thumb sweeping across his knuckles before she gave it a slight squeeze he understood was sympathy. “You didn’t have to come,” he said, quietly, despite the tightness he’d felt in his chest upon seeing her. Relief.

“Oh hush!” she chided. He grinned at the hint of Yorkshire that was evident in the chastisement. He loved her accent.

“Really, Robin. What about Ilsa’s party?”

The blue in her eyes flared as she pinned him with a glare. “How could you ever think I’d just go off to a party and leave you alone in hospital? The party will be fine. I called Nick to let him know you were being brought here.” She determinedly ignored his groan of displeasure at this news. “And he’s promised to cover for us both and to be on call in case we need any help here.”

She dropped her handbag on the floor next to the bed he’d been transferred to and eased a hip onto the side of the bed, her thig pressed along his, her knee pressed to his hip. Still holding his hand firmly in hers, she leaned forward, her gaze on his forehead where he was still holding the gauze pad. “Now, why don’t you tell me what happened?”


	2. Chapter 2

Four years ago, Robin would have never guessed she’d find herself here, sitting on the edge of a hospital bed, her leg pressed tightly to Cormoran’s, waiting for him to explain what had happened to bring them to A&E tonight, instead of joining the group at Bella Cosa to celebrate Ilsa’s birthday.

Four years ago, she’d just gotten engaged to Matthew and the following day she’d met Cormoran.

Four years ago, she’d never have dreamed that Cormoran would become the most important person in her life.  

Recently it had become clear to her that her feelings for the disheveled man beside her had developed into something more than friendship.

He’d become the person she wanted to talk to above anyone else.

He’d become the person she wanted to share her accomplishments with, to share meals with.

His presence had begun to provide a steady comfort as her divorce from Matthew had worn on.

She’d never expected to feel this way about _this_ man.

But she did.

“I fell,” his voice was low, quiet with self-reproach.

“You fell?”

“There was an uneven spot in the pavement and, well…” She smiled softly and nodded in understanding as he mimed tumbling over with his hands. “Hit my head on a newspaper box and I guess I was knocked out for a bit because when I woke up a passerby had stopped and called 999.”

“Are you injured anywhere else? Is your leg hurt?”

His dark eyes met hers, “They wouldn’t let me try to stand since I’d been knocked out. Probably afraid they wouldn’t be able to catch me if I fell. I am a bit large after all,” he joked with a wry quirk of his lips that she felt her lips answer in kind.

She reached up to where he was still holding the gauze pad to his forehead, “Let me have a look?”

Her fingers brushed the back of his hand and he lowered the pad, allowing her to see the gash torn in his forehead, slicing through his left eyebrow. Her left hand rose to cup the side of his head as she examined the wound. It wasn’t jagged, but it was definitely deep. Blood welling swiftly now that he’d removed the pressure.

She glanced down to where his hand lay on his lap, still clutching the gauze. “May I?” she asked as she plucked the gauze from his limp fingers and pressed it to the wound with her right hand, leaning closer as she did so.

She could feel his eyes on her face, his breaths against her collarbone. She’d scooted along the bed so that her hip was now pressed against his. Her face was just slightly above his as he leaned back against the raised head of the bed. She felt the skin across her cheekbones flushing but resolutely ignored it.

“Does this hurt?” She whispered as she glanced down. His eyes had been focused on her lips before they met hers again.

“Yeah...A bit.” His voice was raspy.

He closed his eyes on a quiet breath and she felt his head lean just slightly into her hand and she realized she’d been brushing his temple with her thumb.

As she held the gauze to his head, feeling the steady beat of his pulse under her thumb she felt an overwhelming urge to cuddle him.

It was unnerving seeing him so vulnerable.

He’d always seemed indestructible to her.

Strong.

In command of himself. Even with his disability.

She didn’t enjoy seeing him in this state.

She shifted slightly, and his eyes blinked open again, meeting hers with an intensity that jolted her stomach.  

Neither of them looked away.

His lips parted, and he inhaled, his eyes darkening even more. She felt herself leaning slightly forward, her fingers shifting in his curls.

“Mr. Strike?”

They both jumped and looked around to find an older gentleman stepping through the curtains around his cubicle.

“Sorry to startle you,” he chuckled. “I’m Dr. Reynolds, the attending.” He addressed Cormoran, “It says here that you fell on the pavement and struck your head on a…letter box?”

Cormoran cleared his throat, “It was a newspaper box, but yes. That’s what happened.”

As Robin slid off the bed to allow Dr. Reynolds space to examine Cormoran’s wound, she saw Cormoran’s hand flex, as though he wanted to reach for her.

She felt his eyes following her, despite the doctor probing his head around the wound, as she moved to stand at the foot of the bed.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket and she pulled it free to discover a text from Nick,

_‘How’s Oggy? Has the doctor been in to see him yet?’_

She glanced up at Cormoran, “It’s Nick.”

“I’m surprised it took him this long to be honest,” he said grumpily.

“Hmmm” she hummed at him as she typed a quick response letting Nick know what Cormoran had told her and what she’d seen for herself. “He’s your best mate, Cormoran. And a doctor. Of course he’s checking on you.” She grinned as she read Nick’s response aloud,  

_‘Clumsy oaf. Party’s going fine. Ils was worried. I’ll let her know you’re with him. Send updates as you can.’_

“Idiot.”

“Friend.”

“Numpty.”

“Grouch.” She teased.

He grinned then winced as Dr. Reynolds prodded him again.

“This is definitely going to need stitches,” he said as he looked over the rim of his glasses at Cormoran’s forehead. “I’d say probably about ten or so.” He glanced back down at the file folder he’d laid on the bed next to Cormoran. “This says you were unconscious for a moment?” Cormoran nodded. “Any dizziness?” he asked as he checked the responsiveness of his pupils with his pen light.

“None,” Cormoran’s voice was calm and steady.

“And you may have injured your leg as well? Which leg?”

“My left. I lost the lower part of it in Afghanistan.”

“Is it hurting?”

“When doesn’t it?” Cormoran asked. “But no. Not really. Just a twinge or two in my knee, but nothing I haven’t felt before.”

“Mind if I have a look?” Dr. Reynolds glanced back to where Robin was standing.

Startled she realized Cormoran was going to need to remove his pants to allow the examination. “I’ll…just…um…Tea. I’ll go get us some tea,” she stammered before scooting out the opening in the curtain.

“Lovely girl you’ve got there. You’re a lucky man,” she heard Dr. Reynolds say as she started to walk away.

“Oh…she’s not…” A pause. “Yeah. Luckiest day of my life, the day I met her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know nothing about medical procedures...or what they might call newspaper boxes in the UK...I only just learned, while doing research for this piece, that apparently there aren't fire hydrants on the streets in the UK like there are in the States. 
> 
> My point?
> 
> Please forgive any idiocy. I wrote this chapter in under an hour and only read through it once...If it's terrible I'll come back and edit.


	3. Chapter 3

As he leaned his head back against the bed, eyes closed against the bright lights shining on his face, allowing the doctor to do what was needed to stitch his wound, he listened to the muffled conversation he could hear Robin having outside the cubicle.

“No…Yeah, they said he’s fine, aside from the cut on his forehead and a probable mild concussion.”

She paused, and he could imagine her standing there, phone clasped to her ear, fingers tucking her bronzed gold hair behind her right ear as she listened to, he assumed, either Nick or Ilsa, on the end.

“The doctor is stitching him up now. We’ll be on our way soon…Mmhmm,” she murmured. “Yes. Well…I haven’t told him that yet. Not quite sure how…” It sounded as though she kept getting interrupted. 

“Nick, it’s Ilsa’s birthday. You don’t need to worry about that. Go back to the party and I’ll let you know when we’ve reached the next bit. Go…” Another pause. “Yes. I promise. Goodbye Nick,” she finished with a laugh, but in a firm tone.

He heard her sigh in what he assumed was amused exasperation with Nick and slitted his eyes open a bit so that he could watch as she reentered the cubicle.

A little while before, she’d returned from getting them tea and hovered outside the cubicle curtains for a moment, listening to see if the doctor was still with him before finally calling out in a quiet voice, “Cormoran? Are you decent?”

When he’d answered in the affirmative, she’d tugged the curtain back just enough to allow her to scoot through as she’d balanced the paper cups of tea in her other hand. Her eyes had immediately found the gauze that had been taped to his forehead.

“Dr. Reynolds is getting a plastic surgeon to stitch me up.” He’d quirked his lips in a rueful smile. “Not sure why. I’m already banged up enough. What’s one more scar?”

She’d chuckled and handed him one of the paper cups and he’d sipped at it, wondering how in the world she managed to make his tea perfectly even there, where almost nothing you could ingest was even remotely palatable.

She’d filled him in on her text conversation with Nick, who was keeping up a running commentary on the goings on at the party and peppering her with questions about what was happening at the hospital.

He’d moved his legs over a bit, hoping that she’d perch back on the edge of his bed again, but she hadn’t.

He hadn’t been able to figure out how to ask her to sit down without it being obvious that he’d just wanted to be close to her again.

After she’d finished reading the texts Nick had sent she’d tucked her phone into her bag and asked, without looking at him, “What did the doctor say about your leg? Is it OK?”

He understood that she understood that he was sensitive about his leg. He appreciated that. But oddly it didn’t bother him when Robin mentioned it. Of course, this was probably because she’d never seen it as anything but what it was. A disability. And it helped that she'd never once showed an ounce of pity for him. Something even Nick and Ilsa struggled to hide. But then she hadn’t known him when he’d been whole. They’d only met two years after he’d lost it.

“Yeah.” He coughed. “Um…It’s fine. No swelling in my knee. No cuts or scrapes.”

“Oh good!” She was obviously relieved.

“Had me stand on it and it didn’t hurt at all.”

“Small mercies.”

“Right,” he’d smiled at her, sipped his tea again. “So, we’re just waiting for the plastic surgeon to come and make me gorgeous,” he’d fluttered his lashes at her, causing her to snort and giggle. “And then I suppose they’ll release me.”

They’d both turned toward the curtain as they heard a cart rattling down the ward and watched Dr. Reynolds hold the curtain for a small blonde woman in green scrubs who was pushing a cart filled with the supplies needed to stitch him up.

“Mr. Strike, this is Dr. Price.” Dr. Reynolds had indicated the blonde, who smiled genially at both him and Robin as she’d gone about preparing a syringe. “She’s going to patch you up. She’ll give you instructions for care of the stitches after she finishes. You’ll be free to go after, but I want you to come back if you experience any dizziness, nausea, or if you lose consciousness again. It’s probable that you do have a mild concussion.” He’d glanced at Robin, who, after hearing this information, had pulled her phone back out and started texting Nick, much to Cormoran’s perturbation.

Dr. Price, however, had stepped up to the side of his bed and with a soft, “May I?” had uncovered the gash on his head and started to explain that she was going to start by cleaning the wound, then she was going to numb it and then stitch him up. “That OK?” she’d asked, as though he’d ever say no.

Meanwhile, he’d watched Robin, out of the corner of his eye, as she’d followed Dr. Reynolds out of the cubicle. Unable to hear if she’d detained him to ask any questions, because of Dr. Price’s explanations, he’d nodded acquiescence to Dr. Price’s questions and then leaned back and allowed her to work.

The cleansing of the wound hadn’t been enjoyable, with sharp pain from the streams of water she’d squeezed over the wound and bloodied saline running down his face, and he’d realized he was thankful that Robin was tactful enough to step out to make her call to Nick. He’d definitely preferred not having her there seeing the mess he’d become.

But now, as Dr. Price picked up her syringe and informed him that she was going to start numbing him up now, he waited, somewhat impatiently, for Robin to reenter the cubicle.

Her phone call was done.

He couldn’t hear her voice.

And the blasted curtain hadn’t moved.

Where was she?

 

Robin turned down yet another hall, following the signs for the gift shop. She knew Cormoran was currently being stitched up, and while she wasn’t a squeamish person, she also didn’t think she could handle being there to watch as the blonde doctor applied needle and thread to his forehead. Instead, she’d decided to head to the gift shop to pick up a couple candy bars and see what else she might find.

She knew she was delaying the inevitable. She was going to have to tell him he wasn’t going home alone, that he could either come stay at her flat, or allow her to stay with him. There was no way she was leaving him alone with a concussion.

Even if it was mild.

And only probable.

He was her partner and she'd not risk his health.

Finally she located the gift shop and headed first toward the wall where the candy was displayed. She swiftly scooped up three Mars bars and then turned toward the selection of teddy bears on a circular display in the middle of the shop.

She zeroed in, almost immediately, on a small bear with black fur, a brown snout and a bandage wrapped around the left side of his head, between his ears. His belly was the same shade of brown as his snout and had the words, “Get well soon” embroidered across it.

It was a teddy bear version of Cormoran.

She couldn’t resist it.

She grinned as she paid for her selections and as she walked back to the ward she formulated what she would say as she gave it to him.

As she approached his cubicle she could hear Dr. Price speaking to him. She tucked the bear into the large bag slung over her chest and quietly pulled back the curtain to the cubicle.

Cormoran was still leaned back with Dr. Price bent over him, spreading antibacterial gel over the neat row of black stitches now bisecting his eyebrow and reaching to the middle of his forehead.

“…so you’ll want to give it about twenty-four to forty-eight hours before you clean the wound. After that, feel free to shower, just be sure not to rub the wound as you dry off.” Dr. Price was saying.

“Yeah…I know the drill. Pat it with a clean cloth.”

“Right.” She placed a clean square of gauze over the stitches and taped it in place. “I think you’re done here. I’ll send a nurse in shortly with your after-care instructions.” She smiled over at Robin and then back at him, “Try to avoid newspaper boxes in the future, hmm.”

He chuckled as she shook his hand before turning to Robin with her hand extended, “I hope your evening is dull and uneventful from here Mrs. Strike. Good luck keeping him out of trouble.”

And she was gone before either Cormoran or Robin could correct her assumption.

Robin glanced over to the bed, meeting Cormoran’s eyes, which were studying her intently. She smiled at him as she moved closer to the bed. “I’m sorry I didn’t stay for the whole…” she motioned to his bandage as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, letting them dangle, though the toes of his shoes grazed the floor.

“No worries. You OK?” he asked.

“Me? Yeah. Of course.” She stepped a little closer, her hand dipping into her bag and locating one of the Mars bars and extracting it. “Hungry?” she asked as she extended it to him.

With a crinkly eyed grin he snatched it from her fingers, “Starving.” He unwrapped it greedily.

“I figured,” she laughed before extracting a candy bar of her own and hopping up on the bed to sit next to him.

His arm brushed against hers as he raised the candy bar to his mouth and took a huge chomp. His eyes stayed on her as she unwrapped hers and took a much smaller bite.

They sat, savoring their chocolate, waiting for the nurse to come with his release paperwork. He finished his first bar in three bites, prompting her to dig out the third bar and hand it over with a snicker.

He was just finishing his last bite of that one as she held out her hand for the crumpled wrappers and hopped down from the bed to deposit them in the wastebasket.

She returned to the bedside and reached for her bag again. “I got you something,” she said softly, almost shyly.

“Yeah?” His face filled with amused curiosity, making it easier for her to proceed.

She tugged the bear from her bag and held it out to him. “I saw him in the gift shop and I couldn’t help but get him for you. He even has the same wound,” she gently ran her fingers over the bandage on the bears head.

The teddy bear looked much smaller clasped in Cormoran’s hands. His tufts of black fur curling around the edges of his fingers.

He’d not taken his eyes off the bear since she’d pulled it from her bag and proffered it.

He also hadn’t said anything.

“I…just…I thought it was cute and that you might like him,” she rushed to fill the silence, worriedly.

Her hand was suddenly clasped in his and she found herself being pulled toward him gently.

She looked up and met his dark eyes as she moved between his dangling legs. His gaze was intense, but warm.

Before she fully understood what was happening she found herself clasped against him. His arms wrapped around her, her breasts flattened against the hardness of his chest. She felt the palm of one of his hands slide up to press between her shoulder blades as he hugged her.

His head turned, and she felt his lips press against her temple as her chin came to rest on his shoulder, before the blade of his cheekbone pressed against the top side of her head. Her arms found their way around his torso, her hand clasping the back of his shirt tightly.

 She felt him take a deep breath as he continued to hold her, his lips moving to her hair as he whispered, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she whispered back, as she turned her head and laid the side of it on his shoulder.

As he held her he was swamped with feeling. He could feel the heat of her breath against the side of his neck. She was so soft in his arms, her hair silky against his face, his nose filled with the scent of her.

He could feel the clutch of her fingers against his back and for a brief moment imagined what that hand might feel like pressed to the skin there. Nails scratching gently, passionately.

He suppressed a shiver.

But he turned his head again, unable to resist resting his cheek on hers, her skin so smooth and warm where it touched his above his beard.

He felt her sigh and then the small intake of a breath as she prepared to speak.

Her head lifted from his shoulder and he moved, unable to help himself as his lips met hers deliberately, stopping her words with his mouth.

He’d blame it on the concussion if he had to, but he _needed_ to taste her in that moment.

Her lips were soft and opened beneath his. The tip of her tongue touched the edge of his lower lip. He groaned and slid a hand into her hair, angling her so that he could kiss her deeper.

She followed him. Her tongue sweeping along his, chasing it. Her lips sliding along his, small sounds of pleasure slipping from them each time he stroked her tongue with his.

She was kissing him back.

He pulled his mouth from hers to gaze at her in wonder.

Her eyes were still closed but fluttered open, glazed with…was that desire?

“Robin…” he started, only to feel her arms leave his torso and wrap around his neck, her fingers delving into his hair and tugging him back to her.

She laid a kiss on his cheek before rubbing her own against his beard again.

“Robin?”

She pulled back, her hands remaining where they were but her dazed eyes meeting his, “Hmmm?”

“I’m sorry.”

“For?”

“Kissing you…I think?”

“You think?”

“Well…”

“Did you want to kiss me?”

“Um…Err…yeah.”

“Me too.”

“Wait…What?” He was astounded.

She clasped the sides of his head firmly, “I said, ‘Me too.’ I wanted to kiss you too.”

“You did?”

“Yep.”

“Oh.” He was nonplussed.

“And I think, this is probably the right time to tell you that you’re coming home with me.” She smiled the sexiest smile he’d ever seen.

“I am?”

“Nick and I agreed. Someone has to wake you up every once in a while…You _do_ have a concussion.” She leaned forward and kissed him again, before swiftly pulling away.

“Is that OK?” she asked.

“I guess it depends on how you plan to wake me up.” He could hear his voice go raspy with lust at the thought of her waking him in the middle of the night in ways he’d never allowed himself to imagine.

She arched an eyebrow at him as she slid away from him, the sound of approaching feet clear to them both.

A scrub clad nurse slid the curtains apart and held out a clipboard to him and began to explain his discharge instructions. Nothing she said registered. His head was too full of what had just occurred as he signed where she pointed and then handed him a sheaf of papers that he dazedly folded and tucked into his pocket.

“Have a good night,” the nurse bade them as she guided them out of the cubicle.

As they walked out of the hospital and toward the Land Rover, his thumb slid along the back of her hand in a gentle caress.

He walked with her around to the driver’s side and opened the door for her, then walked around to the passenger side and clambered in.

She smiled at him as she turned the key and started the engine, then leaned over and kissed him before placing both hands on the wheel and steering them out of the car park and toward her flat.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know where this is going...I just used a prompt from Tumblr  
>  _("Yeah if you could just drop me off at the next exit, that’d be great.” and "Sir, you're in an ambulance.")_  
>  to get here and this is what happened. 
> 
> Wish me luck.


End file.
